Virgin Territory
by Sir H. Sol-Solis
Summary: A frustrated Tino is unsure how to come out to his housemate and romantic interest, Berwald. Reviews make me :D! SuFin.
1. Chapter 1: Words

"My wife."

Tino felt irked. Why did his traveling companion insist, occasionally, on using those words to describe him? He'd repeatedly requested that Berwald not call him his wife. It wasn't that he found the sentiment particularly degrading- he didn't consider femininity inherently bad, and for most people, he believed being called a feminine name didn't warrant offense- but his particular situation was one in which the nickname hurt.

However, Berwald hadn't an inkling of his words' real effect on Tino; it was apparent he found it funny to tease his friend by calling him 'wife,' and that he thought the young man's protestations both ridiculous and slightly sexist. It grated on Tino that Berwald had likely lost respect for him due to his adamancy that he was not a wife.

"I am nobody's wife. Don't call me that." He wouldn't look at the man striding alongside him.

A hint of sadness crossed Berwald's features. Tino couldn't help but feel a bit ashamed by his negative reaction. The Finnish man was aware of Berwald's affection for him, and knew that jokingly calling him his wife was a way Berwald chose to express those feelings. Tino felt a good deal of adoration towards the Swede in return, and it was his desire to respond in positive ways to his companion, as he hoped to develop a relationship with him; but this, this compromised his sense of self in such a way that he had to refuse to play along. He would not be called a wife.

"Mmm..." said Berwald, stroking his chin. "Married women aren't so bad."

"I just don't like being called a wife, that's all."

Berwald didn't understand why his words upset the young man; Tino had endeavored every day to assure that he couldn't. It had been difficult, even dreadful some days, but he'd managed, so far. Tino wondered how things would be different if he came out to Berwald. Would it take a weight off his shoulders? Well, that it would certainly do, but to reveal those personal details about himself might also serve to drive his companion away. And would it be cruel, knowing the extent of the man's feelings for him? Perhaps it would be kinder to remain a sort of... a sort of distant dream?

_No! _He told himself, no it would not be cruel, there was nothing wrong with his body, and he shouldn't assume that he was disgusting to other people. He was aware he'd internalized a lot of shame about his figure, and it made him apprehensive whenever he got to thinking about his relationship with the Swede. After all, the warmth between them was mutual, and there was a real chance of something substantial developing between them. But he was so afraid of rejection! He pulled away, and pulled away, whenever he was offered a chance to become closer to the man. At the same time he would be elated by and terrified of his companion. Love would bring him great joy, he knew- a hand to hold, a body to lay beside, lips and neck and together breathing- but there was always a barrier, and that was his own body, the sacred cage within which he huddled and dreamed.

He didn't want to think about it any more._ Look,_ he thought,_ look how lovely the grass is, in the wind, with the sun upon it! See the way the low beams catch the spines of the individual blades, sweeping along them in an orange-gold glow? How splendid!_

_...Fuck being transgender._


	2. Chapter 2: Wilderness

Layers. Ah, beautiful layers! Tino was always glad when the weather took a turn for the chilly. More clothing meant he felt more safe! There was a larger shield between his body and the eyes of the exterior world. Big, hanging jackets meant less emphasis on his hips and chest. And so, the snow falling cast upon him a mood of jubilancy. Finally, he could play, without as much worry whether the shape of his figure would come into question. Maybe, he thought merrily, even roughhousing would be possible, so long as he remained cocooned within his cozy wrappings. But who would play? Would Berwald play?

The thought caused his eyes to close and open languidly. The air rushed out of his physique in a deep, wistful sigh. Even were his companion inclined to become childish with him, he wasn't certain he himself could follow through. As seriously as he longed for physical touch, he'd had none in years, and lacked the carefree manner in which other people had learned to comport themselves during contact play.

"Enjoying the snow?"

"Ah, yes. I love the snow... I've been waiting all year!"

His grin was wide and true, and he was especially pleased when he saw Berwald's expression light up as a result. Such a precious smile!

"I've got my new snow boots on. Want to take a walk?"

The Swedish man nodded. He held out his arm.

"I'm cold," he said. "Walk close."

Tino was elated. His internal organs felt as if they'd turned to warm, softened wax. Taking the proffered arm, he melted against the beloved figure as he and Berwald drifted through the wood. The joy he felt was indescribable. Even the beauty of the snow, which he so amply treasured, was for the most part lost upon him; contentedness swirled within the man, and he exhaled shakily, feeling the while like he were a cat releasing its joy in grateful purrs.

As a pair they reached the river's edge. The Finn looked out across the body of water, silently wondering what all lay on the other side. Between them and the distant shore were mounds of slick rocks, framed in the white of fast-flowing water descended from the westward mountains.

"Have you ever been on the other side?" He whispered. "What is over there? Do you know?"

Berwald shook his head. "I've never been across. I've wondered, too. I suppose it may be more wild, over there. The animals should be more free from human influence."

"It's amazing," replied Tino, "That such a simple barrier could separate two worlds so decisively. Here we may look across the water, and there, perhaps a bear, or a deer, or an elk could stare back..."

"They're on this side, too, but they try to avoid human settlements."

This news interrupted Tino's dreaming. "Really? Do you come across native creatures very often?" he said, a look of surprise upon his features.

"Oh yes. Last summer, in fact, I woke up to find a bear on the porch..."

"You're kidding me!" laughed Tino.

"Not at all. The animals here are our neighbors. We live among them. We exist on the edge of wilderness, after all."

The young man was quiet again. The edge of wilderness... unpredictable, wild wilderness. The idea stirred fire within his heart. Maybe, in the wilderness, more things were possible. Maybe in the feral areas of the soul, there was more freedom, and passion, and tolerance for the unanticipated. Perhaps he himself was a wild thing, that could be loved and cherished as the strange creature he was, by an individual with an understanding of life's variability and unpredictability.

He left the Swede's side temporarily, to go to the shore, where he dipped his fingers in the frigid water. He shivered, but the sensation was not an unpleasant one.

"Someday I want to cross," he said.


	3. Chapter 3: Warmth

Beautiful as the snow had been during the day, it did have its consequences. A frigid night awaited Tino, and he wasn't looking forward to it. The young man bit his lower lip as he peered up at the second floor. Berwald's house was warm and accommodating on the ground level, certainly; however, the comfortable atmosphere ended at the stairway. Every ascended step was cooler than the one before. By the time the Finn's feet found the battered planks of the second story, his toes were stinging with cold. He was shivering as he made his way into the room he'd been provided, which was just as wintry and draft-ridden as the rest of the upper house.

A frown crossed his mien. Was that- on the windows- what he thought it was? Yes! Frost bedecked the inner surfaces of the antique panes, a testament to the aged nature of the home. Unwilling to change into pajamas yet, as cold as he was, Tino jumped into his bed. Pulling the comforter over his entire body and head, he attempted to create a coccoon of body heat as he clutched himself and shivered under the covers. It wasn't enough. His feet, in particular, remained painfully freezing. The winter temperatures drifted in via the old windows, indolent drafts sagging downward to rest directly atop the shape of the Finn as he tried in vain to warm himself. He groaned.

Downstairs, he knocked on Berwald's bedroom door. "Hey, Ber, do you have any extra blankets? I don't know where you put them. I need some."

The man appeared before him. Tino was jealous of his friend's fine-textured nightclothes, and the warmth wafting from his housemate's room. "I'll show you where they are," said Berwald. He lumbered upstairs, leading Tino to an unused chamber. "There ya go," he said, handing a thick blanket down from a shelf, and carrying one himself. He followed the Finn to his sleeping area.

"Thanks," said Tino, smiling although he didn't believe he'd be comfortable under mounded blankets.

"It's cold in here." A visible chill upset the Swede's figure. "Are you sure you want to sleep up here?"

Tino raised an eyebrow. He wanted to respond cockily with, 'Well, where the hell else am I supposed to sleep?' but he settled for "I'm sure I'll be fine," and a wry grin.

Berwald noticed the tracings of frost inside the windows. His face fell. He didn't consider it proper to house someone in such poor conditions. "It's too old and rickety up here. Not fit for sleeping in winter. You can sleep in my room."

"What? But- what about you?"

"I can use the couch..."

Tino was aware his housemate was too tall to fit agreeably on the sofa. "No, that's not okay, I couldn't make you do that."

"Mm..." The Swedish man stroked the new stubble on his cheeks as he pondered a moment. His hand settled over his mouth, and Tino realized his companion was concealing a smoldering complexion beneath his palm. Berwald's eyes turned nervously to the door. "Share the bed with me, then. Warmer that way, anyway," he mumbled. "If you'd like."

The Finn's heart took on a life of its own, and he felt his flesh quiver, but this time he knew it was not due to cold.

"That sounds like a plan!" he exclaimed merrily. "I'll just be down in a bit."

Berwald straightened his posture, and it seemed to Tino suddenly that his friend's physique had become freshly animated after a long while of torpor. "See you soon," replied Berwald, departing. The door closed behind him.

The young man rushed to change his clothes. _Shimmy out of the pants, gotcha, pull on the sweats, like so. Buttons, buttons, buttons, got to undo those pesky little..._

He paused, his shirt open, looking down at himself. There was a mirror in the room, and he sidled up to it, watching himself remove the garment from his shoulders. He wore a layer beneath his shirt, during the day, a binder to keep his chest in check as best was possible. Usually he took it off at night. Wearing a binder constantly wasn't good for the ribs and back. The whole point was to squeeze things into new shapes, which wasn't necessarily healthy for a skeletal structure or the organs held within its confines.

Well, he had no choice this time; the binder was staying on. He wrinkled his nose at the prospect, and hoped the article of clothing didn't smell too bad from the day's use. He didn't want to wash it by hand now, it would take forever to dry, and wearing a sopping, skin-tight layer on a winter night did not appeal to him.

Pulling on a long nightshirt, Tino posed again in the mirror, examining himself from different angles. He didn't usually wear his pajamas around other people. Did his chest look too big from the front? Forty-five degrees? Ninety-degrees? He turned slowly. Maybe the shirt accentuated his other curves too much, too, like his spine, and his waist. He tried on his other nightshirts before finally deciding the first one was best. It wasn't ideal, but he figured he'd be seen only in dim light, and he'd be under the bedspread for most of the time, in any case.

Leaving a sigh at the mirror, the Finn tramped down to Berwald's room. This time, as he approached the door, his mind whirled with scandalous sentiments. He knew what men did in their bedrooms, he did it often himself. What if, right now, Berwald was-

"Hi," said the low voice.

"H-hello," he stammered.

"Go on in. I'm just getting some water. I'll join you soon."

Tino nodded. The bedroom was not only warmer than the one upstairs; the bed was more comfortable, as well. He wriggled beneath the covers. While his housemate was still out, he secretly bunched the blankets within his palms, breathing deeply of them. A bitter, almost spicy scent inundated his nasal cavities. The scent of his Swedish man! He let the blankets lay near his nose, so hints of the smell could continue to reach him as he waited.

It wasn't long. Berwald soon fell into bed beside the other man. "I hope the blankets are big enough to cover us both," he said. His voice was quiet.

"I think they'll be fine," whispered Tino, "as long as we don't hog them."

He wondered how he was supposed to get to sleep. He was restless, his brain teeming with yearning and amorous ideas. The possibility that Berwald was feeling the same way made slumber all the more difficult.

"Good night," murmured the Swede.

Their limbs were close- touching in some areas, in fact. Tino longed to snuggle closer, but was apprehensive. He couldn't take too many risks. Oh well.

"Good night," he returned.


	4. Chapter 4: Work

"Ow..."

Groaning, Tino rolled out flat on his back, stretching his limbs north and south of his body. The man wriggled his spine and scapulae against the mattress beneath him, hoping that the movement would aid him in relieving his muscles of their pain.

Berwald had vacated the room earlier, so the Finn reached under his shirt and pulled at his binder. _What an aggravating piece of crap!_ he thought to himself, furious at the garment. Tino had been accompanying his companion in bed for a few weeks, and the constricting piece of clothing he'd had to wear was having a toll on his physical well-being. _I'm going to get out of this damnable thing as soon as possible!_ vowed the young man, sitting up to shake his shoulders and torso. A bath, he figured, would be the solution; a long, hot, uninterrupted bath, where he could relax much like he had in his homeland's saunas as a child.

"G'morning," said Berwald as Tino wandered into the kitchen. "Coffee's ready."

"Thanks," he yawned, taking a place at the little table in the middle of the space. Without thinking about what he was doing, he began to rub his shoulders against the upper edge of the chair. Berwald cocked an eyebrow skyward.

"Are you all right?"

He froze. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, my back hurts a little, that's all."

The Swede turned away, making as if to take something out of the refrigerator. "I could... give you a massage, if you want," he offered, quickly hiding his reddening face within the device. He pretended to search the drawers as he awaited an answer.

For Tino it was a tempting offer, an incredibly tempting offer. Strong hands, healing him, tantalizing him, easing his pain! How heavenly, he dreamed, that would be. But it wasn't possible. "I'm okay. You don't need to do that."

"Are you sure? Don't forget, we have to move wood later today, don't want to have problems with that."

"I'll be okay," he replied, flinching out of sight. He'd forgotten they were going to haul in wood for the fireplace. "A hot bath should be all I need."

"If ya say so."

.

He lowered himself into the hot water, exhaling contentedly. The daily chores would wait however long he wanted them to; this was his time to relax, and he'd let nothing interrupt it. Berwald could come begging at the door for him to finish his bath, but if he wasn't ready to leave it, he wouldn't care, even if it meant they'd be moving the wood in the dark. It was his right to be occasionally selfish.

Breathing in the muggy air, he reminisced once more about visiting saunas. It felt like forever had passed since he'd last been in one. As a part of his culture, the ritual was one in which he was saddened he could no longer partake. Neither was swimming an option anymore. _Stupid things,_ he thought, gripping a side of his chest. _And I bet they'll get cancer, too. This is rubbish. I shouldn't have to deal with this._

Already his plans for relaxing were being foiled, not by any external factors, but by his own disheartening thoughts. He tried to dislodge them, but they were persistent; he found that every time he attempted to focus his mind elsewhere, there was an inevitable slide back into the glum truths about his physical constraints.

A gentle knock disrupted his cycling cogitations.

"What is it?"

"Sorry to bother you," Berwald began, his deep and mellow voice muffled by the door. "Don't forget the sun sets around 1:30. It gets very cold once dark sets in, which makes the work hard."

"I remember," he replied. "I'll be out in a bit."

He didn't really want to stay in, anyway.

.

With the right gloves, a friend, and warm clothes, moving firewood wasn't too difficult a task; it did, however, require a lot of bending, and mister Väinämöinen wasn't thrilled to participate with his back still aching. Thankfully Berwald let him have what he thought was the easier task, which was ordering the wood. He stood in the back of the truck, with the Swedish man depositing the pieces of wood near him; Tino took the logs and stacked them neatly, so that no more trips than necessary would have to be made.

The work was tedious, and his mind wandered to the wilderness. He and Berwald had glanced deer on their way through the forest, as well as seen bear leavings, although the bears themselves had fortunately remained absent. Moss and lichens ornamented the bark of the wood he stacked, and he was careful where he put his fingers, lest a slug, beetle, or some other tender creature still clung to the logs.

Even the felled trees, he figured, were part of the wilderness; and now, they were being taken inside, to be used at the hearth. Huddled indoors on cold winter days, he and his housemate would yet be tied to the wilderness outside. It made him smile to think that although human beings tried so hard to shelter themselves from the ravages of the exterior world, it was simply rearranged pieces of that exterior environment that would keep them warm and protected, in the end. He and Berwald were still creatures of the wilderness.

His mind turned to the wooden floors of Berwald's house. Perhaps the boards had been gleaned from these very groves long ago, he considered, maybe even before many of the current trees had existed. He could picture Berwald younger and in the distant past, felling trees alone, that he might make a home for himself.

"Hey, Ber, did you build your house?"

"Yeah. Long time ago."

Tino laughed. "You're a bear of the forest!"

"Is that so?" grinned the Swede, lingering beside the bed of the pickup. "Well then I guess I'd better get ready for hibernation. Maybe I'll start with... a little bite of Tino!"

Berwald swiped his hands like an angry bear at the young man; failing to catch the laughing creature, he growled and took hold of the side of the truck and shook it back and forth. "I'm gonna getcha!"

"Oh no!" squealed Tino dramatically, "You don't want to eat me, mister bear! I've been eating nothing but surströmming all day!"

"I know!" roared Berwald in his best bear voice, "All I had to do to find you was follow the smell of your breath!" He pinched his nose. "Peww!"

When finally the wood loading was completed, and the heavens were folding into dusk, Berwald helped his friend down from the truck for the last time.

"We did good work!" said Tino, glad for their progress.

"That we did. And now, I've got something to give you."

"Really?"

"A great big bear hug!"

Berwald surrounded the Finnish man, holding him snugly against his body. Tino chuckled, allowing himself to be held, somewhat relieved his arms were trapped in front of him.

"I'm glad you're not a real bear," remarked Tino when Berwald let go, "or now I'd be your dinner!"


	5. Chapter 5: Worry

Night crept over the land, and with it arrived a cloudless sky. Hundreds of stars trembled brilliantly there, sweeping in their majestic dome from one boundary of the horizon to the other; the stars, however, precious as they were, went unnoticed by the warm pair of figures seated afore the glow of a kindled hearth. Tino and Berwald lingered leisurely at each other's sides, relishing not only in the heat of the neighbouring flame, but in the nearness of one another. Little was said, at first; each man nursed his own thoughts, regarding he and his partner, the work they'd accomplished, their schedules, and their priorities. Tino suddenly sat up straight, recalling something he'd intended to tell his housemate.

"Hey, Ber, my birthday's coming up..."

Berwald glanced at him, smiling lazily. "Oh. Yeah, I s'pose it is." He turned a page of the newspaper he'd been pretending to read for twenty minutes. "You want to do something?"

"That's the thing... Estonia's asked me if we could celebrate my birthday at my home, says he's got something planned for me. The trip would be a week or two, and I'm not sure whether to go, I kind of also want to be here, with you."

The man was aware his companion hadn't returned home in a long while. Tempting as it was to bid Tino stay, he deemed it manipulative. "Y'don't need my permission to see your friends. Go home. We ken celebrate together when you come back, if you'd like."

"I would like that..." said Tino, becoming bewitched by the undulating light of the fireplace.

Low, nearly indecipherable words interrupted his engrossment. "Will you be back for Santa Lucia day?"

"Oh..."

The holiday, he knew, was particularly special to Berwald; Tino remembered with fondness the previous year, when he'd turned, in the dim light of the church, to find tears bubbling down the face of his friend. He'd said nothing, but the strongest urges surfaced within him to hold the man close; he'd settled with discreetly taking his arm, pressing his hand around Berwald's in comfort.

"I'll try," he said softly.

The quiet of the room, along with the nearing of his birthday, allowed Tino's mind to wander to his homeland. For the second time that day, he eventually found his consciousness reflecting upon a particular tradition in which he wished he could still partake.

"Ouch," said the Finn, digging his fingers into the sore musculature of his back. "I miss having a sauna. Those always helped soothe my pain when I was younger."

"You're still in pain?"

"Yeah. It's worse, now, than it was earlier." He sighed, letting his head loll in an exhausted manner against Berwald. "I guess there isn't really anything I can do about it, though."

"S'that so?" Berwald murmured, forgetting his newspaper at his side. He raised his arms, careful hands forming a firm but kindly grip about Tino's shoulders. "How about you let me-"

At the touch, Tino outright panicked. He'd been careless! He couldn't have Ber touching his back! His layers would be felt and questioned! His stomach turned over, his heartrate skyrocketed, and out of alarm he reacted with his first reflex, swiftly shoving the Swede away from him and against the couch. "Don't touch me," he uttered, shaking, a fierce blush bleeding into the hue of his cheeks.

He regretted immediately the sudden reaction, however. Positioned over his stunned companion, he looked down to find Berwald's eyes glued to his own, and within them manifested awe and distress. Berwald was out of breath and wordless. Tino peeled away. He was humiliated, and hoped he could remedy this wrong.

"I- I mean, don't touch my back. I don't like my back being touched." He hunched over, peering shamefacedly at the ground.

"I'm sorry," he choked, when his companion didn't respond, "I didn't mean to react so... like that. I just have... a thing, about my body."

"Do you needta talk about something?" whispered Berwald. He sounded afraid, and it hurt Tino that himself alone was the cause. He didn't know how to answer his partner; instead he stayed slouching, his head in his hands, as he worked to calm his anxious breathing. Tino knew he was being watched through sad, expectant eyes, but he couldn't meet them, he couldn't bear to acknowledge the person whose kindness he'd so viscerally rejected.

"Tino." Berwald was certain something was deeply amiss. Though Tino didn't know it, his reaction had been accurately understood by Berwald as one of real terror; and it was this, not having been pushed, that troubled the Swedish man most.

"What?"

Berwald's hands begged him try to soothe his friend through touch. "Ken I pet your hair?

"...Yes," replied Tino meekly.

Berwald assumed his companion would shrink away from him, even having permitted the gentle contact; it dumbfounded him, then, to find Tino not quailing from the sensation of his scalp being stroked, but reveling in it. Tino huddled close against the Swede, that he could be touched more easily. He pushed his head longingly against Berwald's meandering palms, and it was quickly clear to Berwald that his simple, comforting gesture of fondling Tino's hair brought the man sensual pleasure. Berwald's toes curled as he considered the situation, excitement playing through his physique.

Tino confused Berwald to no end. So much had gone unsaid between he and Berwald that the Swede wasn't always sure they were in a relationship. Sometimes Tino would seem adoring, and with the most brilliant of smiles would imply a depth of love that shocked Berwald; and at other times, there seemed to exist impenetrable walls surrounding the Finnish man, that spoke of an unfathomable, unbreakable distance. This second side of Tino's mixed signals had blindsided Berwald this evening, and the Swede had feared he'd at last been definitively rejected; and yet minutes later here was the young man, lapping up Berwald's attention as if desperate for it. Berwald wondered whether he was being played with.

_No,_ he thought, feeling Tino nuzzling into his touch, _this isn't fake. He couldn't fake this, and not his earlier reaction, either._

Then what was the problem? It appeared occasionally to Berwald that Tino feared him, and of this the Swede felt ashamed. He knew he was a big man, and his expression tended toward stolid, or even menacing, though he intended neither. Even more discomfiting than this possibility though was the idea that Tino's walls were the cause of something else, something buried in Tino's memories, about which Berwald was not enlightened. A hodgepodge of horrible scenarios scrambled to take hold in Berwald's mind, but he did not wish to entertain them, so he turned his concentration back to the enraptured man at his side.

Perhaps in time the young man's defenses would lower. He figured, with care and trust, they would. For now, however, Berwald could wait, and he contented himself with plying his fingers affectionately through the velvety fibers of Tino's hair.


End file.
